Dom turned, needing to leave. Except Sinclair grabbed his arm.
“You didn’t have to bring me back,” Sinclair muttered. “Why did you?”
Because you don’t need to be scared around here. Because it’s not something you’d want. There were so many answers Dom could give, but all of them would reveal too much about himself.
“Don’t need you freaking out on the other team,” Dom said.
Sinclair released him like he’d been struck. Dom left the cubicle and closed his eyes, wishing immediately that he hadn’t said it.
But from the way Sinclair didn’t pursue him, it was the right answer to give.
At least, it would save them both from getting involved.
12
Christmas Eve
For a whole year after that incident, Jesse stopped making moves on Dom.
Dom didn’t want him to; that was easy enough to understand. Jesse sought comfort in his right hand, and he stopped showing up to bar nights the moment Alec found an omega. Instead, he settled for sneaking looks at Dom, and getting under his skin.
The one thing Jesse had come to appreciate was that whenever he made Dom angry, Dom stayed mad for a while. Not just a short moment, but maybe half a day at a time.
That was half a day of him thinking about Jesse, every time Jesse sprinkled some salt into his coffee.
So on Christmas eve, Jesse thought nothing of it when Gareth hissed, “Psst, Jes!”
Jesse stopped by the kitchen doorway, his ears perked.
Gareth nodded at the mug across the table. “Hurry.”
He shoved the salt shaker at Jesse, keeping an eye on the doorway leading to the locker room. Jesse sprinkled some salt into Dom’s mug. “How long’s he been gone?”
“Two seconds,” Gareth whispered. “Aw, c’mon. It’s Christmas eve! Do the entire shaker!”
“He’ll murder me,” Jesse hissed back.
“We’re not witnesses,” Harris rumbled on the other end of the table. “We saw nothing.”
Jesse choked down his laugh, his hands trembling as he unscrewed the shaker. This wasn’t even the fifth, or tenth time Gareth had called him over to do this. But they did it infrequently enough that Dom couldn’t judge when his coffee would be salted next. All because Gareth had caught Jesse doing it the second time—instead of telling on him, Gareth had smiled with a sort of amusement that Jesse was glad wasn’t directed at himself.
The silver lid came off the shaker. Jesse was shaking so hard with anticipation that he almost spilled salt onto the table.
“Easy there, you only have one load,” Gareth said. “Sage advice for all alphas.”
Jesse stifled his laugh, shaking the last of the salt into Dom’s mug. Then he looked around for a stirrer. Gareth reached out for the empty salt shaker; Jesse handed it to him. He grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer, stuck it into Dom’s mug, and gave it a quick stir. Good thing salt dissolved so much faster than sugar.
The locker room door squeaked open. Jesse yanked the spoon out of Dom’s mug, wiped the drip off the table with his hand, and darted out of the kitchen.
Once he was in the garage, he pressed his back against the wall, his heart pounding too loud for him to focus on anything else.
Footsteps trailed into the kitchen. “Hey,” Gareth said. “You’re back early.”
“What, you thought I’d take ten minutes to grab a folder?” Dom rumbled. Jesse closed his eyes, just listening to his voice. It always sounded so low and rough, raking down Jesse’s spine. More suspiciously, Dom said, “Smells like cinnamon in here.”
“Didn’t you see the Christmas cookies?” Gareth asked. “Ben brought some—so much cinnamon on them. Fresh from Ben’s Buns.”
Jesse held his breath, putting the spoon into his mouth. It was still warm from Dom’s coffee, but the sheer amount of salt on it made his mouth pucker.
The chair rattled; Dom took a seat. Then he must’ve had some coffee, because the next sound Jesse heard was the violent spraying of much liquid through the air.
Hopefully Gareth didn’t get a face full of it.
“What the actual fuck,” Dom snapped.
Jesse clapped his hand over his mouth, laughing so hard that his face turned hot. Oh, it was amazing. And Dom would absolutely murderize him.
Gareth turned his laugh into a cough. “What’s wrong with the coffee?”
There was a pause, as though Dom was looking incredulously at his friend. “What’s wrong with it? You know what’s fucking wrong with it, Gareth-fucking-Brown!”
“No one was here,” Harris said. “Just the two of us.”
“Not you, too,” Dom hissed.
“Hey, where’re you going?” Gareth asked. “Clean up your damn mess, Dom!”
Footsteps thumped out of the kitchen; Jesse’s heart lodged in his throat. He scrambled.
He thought about ducking behind the trucks, but his footfalls echoed way too loudly against the concrete floor. So he sprinted out of the building, rounded a corner, and pressed himself against the wall, trying as hard as he could to stay out of sight.
This wasn’t behavior suited to a firefighter. But Gareth had suggested it, and... it was Christmas eve. Maybe this could be Jesse’s present to himself. Whatever it turned out to be.
Dom’s footsteps followed Jesse out of the building. A little too late, Jesse remembered that Dom could smell him. If he moved now, Dom would hear grass rustle beneath his feet. So Jesse stayed put.
The footsteps drifted closer, as though Dom was sniffing the air. Jesse held his breath. He hoped Dom couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart. His hands began to sweat.
Around the building, the grass rustled. Then Dom stepped closer and closer, and it felt as though he was just one step from rounding the corner, and finding Jesse.
Did he know Jesse was here? Could he smell him?
Grass rustled again. And now Jesse could smell that distinct blackwood scent. Which meant that Dom could smell him, too.
There was no one else out here, just the two of them separated by the corner of a building.
Jesse closed his eyes and tipped his face into the sunlight, feeling like one of those teenagers in the movies, all excited
